Embersong
by Fainmaca
Summary: The young bard Valentina had only heard of the Witchers in myths and stories, never encountered one in person. Then, she met Vester of Oxenfurt, the so-called Pyromaniac of the Pontar. This is their tale. Based on characters and events from the 1st International Season of the Witcher School Larp.
1. Chapter 1

Smoke.

It drifted thickly on the air, filling the nostrils and choking the lungs. Underfoot, the ground was still uncomfortably warm, the thick peat having caught light and still smouldering deep beneath the surface. Piles of ash and embers glimmered here and there, in sheltered places where the heat still lingered. To one side, a hefty rafter splintered with a loud crack, exposing glowing orange splinters that cast faint light across the abandoned village as the day's light vanished.

The small village had once been called Boggevrieg, a little farming village, far from any town or city, remote enough to be no danger to anyone. It had barely possessed a central square, a simple well and meeting point between two rarely travelled roads around which perhaps a dozen or so homes had sprung up. No more, though. Now, the thatched cottages, the squat inn, the simple farrier's lean-to, all of it was gone, swept away in a tide of flame and devastation.

Through it all, a lone figure walked. Clad in a simple but well-made cream chemise and a complementing yellow overdress, brown leggings and long, well-worn boots, the slight figure stood out against the grey ash, a bright point of light in the overbearing haze of devastation. A black beret crowned her head, under which strands of raven-black hair could be seen emerging, a shimmering curtain that reached down to frame her jawline. On her back, a finely craved lute was fixed in place, the only possession she carried.

Valentina, for that is what she chose to call herself, her true name long hidden to all but a few souls in the world, walked through the devastated village in awe, her skin crawling as she sensed the stench of death on the air. She winced as she felt brittle wood crumble under her booted heel, looking down to see the remains of a child's toy underfoot, a roaring dragon's head scorched black by the inferno.

Slowly, timidly, she worked her way through the village, a sinking feeling growing in her stomach. From here on, she couldn't even begin to guess where to go. This was it. The last place where he had been. The only lead she had on the location of her beloved.

In her most recent journeys, she'd exhausted every one of their usual favoured haunts, not once finding him, only hearing whispers. Eventually, desperate for news, she'd followed rumours of a Witcher, tall, grim of eye, countenance twisted by the use of foul alchemical concoctions. Her search had led her deep into the Pontar valley, and finally to this village.

The first twinge of unease had filled her belly on the previous night, when the northern horizon had glowed with virulent crimson, the undersides of the clouds painted the colour of blood. In the morning, the pillars of smoke formed a beacon for her, leading her to this desolate place. Finally, as the merchant she had hitched a ride with declared that her coin would carry her no further, she alighted on the edge of the ruined village, concern for the man she sought spiking in her chest.

Now, she walked through the debris, a hollow feeling in her heart echoing the emptiness surrounding her.

The young woman rounded a corner, stumbling across the first signs of life she had seen within the village. A man, clad in soot-stained rags, sifted through the dirt and ash, his face unreadable under the grime. At his side sat a patient dog, little more than a mongrel with patchy fur and a stubby tail. As Valentina shuffled into view, trapped in a shocked daze, the dog turned, growling threateningly. The man lifted his gaze, eyes at first harsh, then softening as he spotted the new arrival.

"Shaddap, Hunter!" He growled at the dog, who quickly stilled. "She ain't no corpse-eater. Sit yer arse down an' behave!"

He stood, dusting off what few scraps remained of his trousers.

"You lost, lass?" He asked, snorting and spitting out a gobbet of plegm, stained black by the soot that coated his throat.

"What happened here?" Valentina managed, her voice distant.

"A fuckin' massacre, that's what." The man grumbled. "Damned Witcher."

"Witcher?" Valentina's eyes focused, latching onto the single word. Suddenly, all the chaos, the smoke, the death surrounding her, it all vanished in a blink, her sole thought being that single word.

"Aye. Bloody mutant was hired by the ealdorman to take on some kinda beast that were eatin' our goats. Hairy bugger with horns and teeth like knives. The beast, mind, not the Witcher." He paused, glancing around. "Although I 'ave me doubts about which one might be the worse monster."

"Please, tell me what happened!" Valentina said with more desperation in her voice than she intended. The man regarded her with renewed interest.

"Sounds t'me like that tale might 'ave some value to you." He waved a hand expansively at the village. "As the new ealdorman o' Boggevrieg, I gotta think o' meself an' ol' Hunter here." He grinned, showing a row of yellow teeth interspersed with black gaps. "What'll you give me, to hear the tale o' the Beast o' Boggevrieg?"

"I-" Valentina hesitated. She'd spent the last of her coin on the ride out to the Pontar. It had been weeks since she'd been able to find a place that would pay her to perform. Her next words were a quiet whisper. "I don't have anything."

"C'mon." He drawled. "Everyone's got somethin' they can part with. How 'bout that there?" He pointed to the lute. "Looks fancy. Bound t' be worth a few orens, I reckon."

Valentina's hand darted to her back, reflexively clutching the neck of her instrument. Panic rose in her throat. Part with her lute? The thought... she could barely entertain it. She'd sooner be parted from an arm, or a leg. And yet... if this was the only way to find out what had become of him...

A gleam of light caught her eye. A flash of silver, decorating her slender wrist. She'd almost forgotten she had it, a gift from an admiring suitor at one of her prior performances. It was barely a trinket, a twist of low-quality silver, but still enough to buy a meal for the evening, perhaps even a pile of straw in a barn to curl up on. Quickly, she unfastened it, proferring it to the grinning peasant.

"Here. Now quickly, tell me everything you know!" She urged.

The man quickly snatched the chain from her palm, holding it up to his eye for a critical moment, although Valentina had her doubts he could determine real silver from some cheap imitation. Regardless, he appeared satisfied.

"A'right." He shrugged, pocketing his new prize. "I guess its good enough. Though I warn you, lass- 'tis not a pretty story."

"Just-" She struggled not to let her voice creak with frustration. "Just tell me what you know about the Witcher."

"Like I said, ealdorman hired him. Some lumberin' bugger was eatin' our goats, an' we 'ad no blades between us to fight it off. Offered a reward of fifty Orens for the monster's head. Was almost more coin 'n the whole village sees in a year, but we needed rid of the bastard. Witcher showed up to take the contract. Lanky bastard, taller 'n anyone I've ever seen. Dead eyes, yellow, glowin'.

"Any'ow, the Witcher went out 'n' fought the creature. Reckon 'e killed it, given the racket they made. Whole village was set a runnin' by the noise, the screams, the roarin'. Dunno if it were the Witcher or the monster makin' the noise. Afterwards, everythin' went quiet. From what I 'eard, 'e went to meet the ealdorman, collect 'is pay, then 'e left. We thought that were it.

"We was wrong. Later that night, we're woken by screamin'. Next thing we know, ol' Blennan's barn is in flames, an' soon after so is Menford's cottage. In minutes, the whole village is ablaze. We ain't 'ad a decent drop o' rain in 'bout three months, so the thatch was tinder-dry. Caught light in seconds. The children was screamin', the women was cryin', the men try to draw water from the well, get a bucket chain goin'."

"I don't understand." Valentina interrupted. "What does this have to do with the Witcher?"

"There's the thing!" The man leaned forward conspiratorially. "I saw 'im, walking outta the Blennans' place. 'is face were right horrific, all black veins and pale white flesh, eyes sunken into 'is face and burnin' somethin' fierce. I reckon whatever creature lurks inside o' him took charge at that point. Anyway, didn't take long for us to figure out it were 'im that set the fire. Pissed at us for not payin' 'im more fer the monster, I bet. Dannel charges at 'im, manages to get a good jab in with 'is pitchfork, right in the leg. Bastard growls, then uses that witchcraft his kind have the knowin' of, ensorcels Dannel to turn around and run away, hollerin' that 'e can see shadows comin' to eat us all or some sorcery. Next thing we know, the mutant bastard 'ad bolted. Vanished in the smoke. Probably bled out, or choked on the smoke. I 'ope however 'e went, it weren't quick. Bastard don't deserve an easy death for what 'e done 'ere."

The man spat on the ground again, features contorting angrily.

"There were some good folks in this place. Kind, generous souls. None of 'em deserved to die at the hands of a beast like that. A curse on his name, and on the rest of his mutant kin! I 'ope they all rot."

Valentina listened carefully, looking around at the devastation again. It couldn't be him, could it? The description sounded right, but she'd have never though him capable of such monstrosity.

"You're sure that the Witcher caused this?" She asked reluctantly.

"Sure as I am that day comes after night, lass." He reached down to scratch behind the ears of his dog comfortingly. "You know what Witchers are like, everyone does. We've all sang that song 'bout 'ow heartless they are, 'ow they chop an' slice an' eat up little kiddies. They're monsters, inhuman mutants designed to kill. Why wouldn't 'e attack someone 'e thought 'ad cheated 'im?"

Valentina had no answer for that, reluctant as she was to admit it. She chewed her lip silently for a moment, then summoned up the courage to ask the question that caused her the most fear.

"This Witcher, did he tell you his name?"

"Aye, and it's a name I'll spit on for the rest o' my days." The man growled. His next words caused a blossom of pain in Valentina's chest, followed by a chilling numbness. "He said 'is name was Vester. Vester of Oxenfurt."


	2. Chapter 2

Valentina strode through the smouldering wreckage, numbness sapping at her limbs as her heart beat hollowly in her chest. A tight knot formed in her throat as she absorbed the full extent of the damage, the true depth of what had taken place, all at the hands of her Vester.

Clutching at her lute, cradling it almost like a newborn child, the young bard gingerly sat on the scorched remains of a large crate, the wood charred black, but still strong enough not to crumble at her touch. She sat for a long, long moment, staring at the remains of Boggevrieg, utterly lost, trying to reconcile what she could see with what she remembered of the Wolf, the man she cared for above all others. It seemed impossible, and yet she'd known what he was, ever since that day she first met him. Silence closed in around her as memories rose in her mind unbidden.

~o~0~o~

"I wasn't expecting to find such a pretty little thing sitting all alone in a place like this."

The sudden words, along with the abrupt presence at her side, snapped Valentina out of her thoughts. The sights and sounds of the tavern flooded back into her mind. Around her, the denizens of the Prancing Manticore, a small but popular tavern on the road between Velen and Vizima, drank raucously, sharing tall tales, ogling the serving girls, and generally making merry, a warm and bright point of light in the vast darkness of the Temerian nighttime.

At being disturbed from her reverie, the young bard started a little, turning to face her unexpected companion, breath catching in her throat a little. Beside her stood a most striking woman, clad all in sapphire blue and gold. An array of jewels lay across her breast, fine opals set in intricate designs of white gold. And yet, no one paid any heed to her adornment, instead transfixed by the beauty behind them. A torrent of golden locks flowed across slender shoulders, framing a delicate jawline and graceful neck perfectly. High cheekbones and a defined chin spoke of Koviri ancestry, but the luminous teal eyes betrayed something else, something almost inhuman, perhaps Elvish. And those gleaming eyes were fixed squarely upon Valentina. The young bard could almost feel the envy radiating off many of the men, and even some of the swarthier women, scattered around the tavern.

As Valentina struggled to find words to reply, blood quickening just a touch inside her veins, her newfound companion smiled, lips painted crimson parting to reveal pearly white teeth.

"Would you object if I joined you, my pretty little bird?" She asked.

The woman smiled again, seating herself beside the bard without waiting for a reply. Not that Valentina could have objected, if she'd even wanted to. Words still escaped her. Fortunately, the woman seemed to have more than enough at her disposal.

"I saw your performance earlier." A hand, decorated with a beautiful golden ring, gestured towards the stage, where now a local lad with a flute played, poorly. "Valentina, wasn't it? A beautiful, graceful name. Well matched to your talent."

"Th-thank you, my lady." Valentina's mouth permitted her to say, although the words felt thick, heavy. The scent of the woman's perfume, a mixture of wildflowers and berries, filled her nostrils. Her head felt light as she breathed in the aroma, feeling a heat she was not used to rising in her belly.

"No need for such formalities, little one!" She smiled again, the sight of those white teeth sending thrills of electricity down Valentina's spine. "Let us break down the social barriers of our classes, at least for a little time. For tonight, you may call me Capricia. Now, tell me, where did you study your art?"

"I... I learned from watching the musicians who came to visit my village." Valentina explained, clarity returning to her thoughts as she looked down at the lute, her lute, in her hands. "I could never afford to go to one of the grand musical colleges in Novigrad or Beauclair, so made do by practicing on the road, from inn to inn."

"Naturally gifted?" Teal eyes flashed with unreadable light. "A rare thing indeed. You are indeed a treasure!" She leaned closer, the floral scent on her skin filling Valentina's mind. "I would love to hear you sing for me, little bird."

Valentina felt her heart skip, twitching in her breast feverishly. She couldnt deny that this Capricia was truly beautiful, far more elegant than any other woman she was used to the company of. The purring undertone to her voice stirred something deep, primal, within her. Something she wasn't entirely certain that she wanted to try and control. Capricia smirked, seeing the flush of scarlet that crept across the bard's cheeks. She leaned closer, her breath warm in Valentina's ear.

"Why don't we go somewhere a little more... private, where you might serenade me?"

A lump bobbed in Valentina's throat, keeping her from uttering a single word, her body instead only allowing her to nod her assent. Before she knew it, a surprisingly firm hand curled around her arm, guiding her to her feet as Capricia led her through the crowded tavern towards the door, the crowds parting before the noblewoman's determined stride. The young bard could do nothing but be swept up in her wake, soon taken from the warmth of the inn and out into the cool air of the Temerian countryside. As they stepped out under the clear skies of the night, Capricia slowed, her grip on Valentina's arm shifting to instead gently curl around her elbow. With a more measured pace, the noblewoman leading the way on an almost languorous stroll.

"I do so adore this northern land." She explained, waving a hand in an expansive gesture around her, drawing in a deep, satisfied breath. "The people's ways are different from those of Touissant, much cruder, but the air is so much more alive, cleaner. The scent of rain is ever so refreshing." She turned to face Valentina, eyes flickering in the moonlight. "Did you know that the magi have a word for this aroma? Petrichor, I believe they call it."

"I... did not know that." Valentina answered, a little confused by the sudden turn of the conversation. Capricia smirked, clicking her tongue.

"I can see there is much you have yet to learn, my little bird. And much that I can teach you, it would seem."

"I am always happy to learn." Valentina answered. The smile that Capricia gave her was an unreadable mystery.

"I am so glad to hear that." The woman turned, her dress swirling around her in a shimmering ripple as she found a tree stump to sit upon, folding her hands elegantly in her lap. "Now, please, serenade me, my beautiful little songbird. What melodies can you recall from your travels? Perhaps something that can prey upon the heart and the soul."

"Well..." Valentina paused a moment, mind racing. What ditty could she recite that would satisfy such glamorous company? Surely not any of the drinking songs she usually sang to the drunken masses. But then, in a flash of inspiration, a song long forgotten. "I do have one song, a song my grandmother used to sing."

"Perfect." Capricia's smile glowed, white teeth reflecting the pale moonlight as her eyes gleamed in the gloom. "Please, sing to me."

The purred words had such force behind them, such authority, that Valentina felt as though she could not resist. Before she was even aware she was doing it, her hands clasped her lute, fingers gently caressing the strings. Melodious notes rose into the night air. She drew in a long breath, summoning up the words as the music danced around her, a slow, mournful waltz in the air.

"Grave divide 'tween husband and wife,

Bloody hands of blame,

Yearned for love, but hate's what he found,

Vengeance calls his name..."

Calm overtook her mind, banishing all other thoughts as she lost herself to the ballad, eyes closing as she swayed with the rise and fall of the lyrics. A single tear balanced in the corner of her eye as she reached the final couplet, allowing the last note to slowly fade into the cold air. When she finally opened her eyes again, Capricia was watching her with sharp eyes, something flashing deep within her gaze.

"Truly exquisite." With a rustle of shifting silk, she stood, moving close to Valentina once again. "You have a rare gift, my dear Valentina. One I have only seen a few times in all my days. Truly, I am privileged to have you all to myself, here and now."

Before the bard could react, Capricia suddenly reached out to grab her arm again, quickly dragging her towards the back of the inn. The suddenness of the motion caused Valentina to lose her grip on her lute, the instrument dropping to the ground with a hollow thunk as it came to rest in a tuft of grass. The bard tried to resist the pull of the noblewoman for just an instant, protective instincts for her lute, her most prized possession, overriding her thoughts, but Capricia's firm grasp could not be denied, the older woman showing surprising strength for one so delicate. She ducked into the gap between the main building of the inn and the stables, taking the bard with her. The smell of travel-weary horses washed over the pair, wild, musky, animal. Valentina could feel the scent doing something, deep in her brain. As she struggled to regain her senses, the noblewoman was suddenly upon her, pinning her against the wooden wall of the stables. Capricia leaned in, placing an insistent kiss on the young bard's jaw, just a hair's breadth from her ear, and sending electric spasms through her very core. The bard shivered under the older woman's touch, Capricia reaching up to run her fingers through Valentina's hair. A small moan escaped from Valentina's throat before a quick, rough kiss clamped her mouth shut.

The bard's mind whirled as she slowly but surely lost herself to the moment. This was insane. She'd just met the woman, and now she was being used as this... this... plaything! An idle distraction. She should have been insulted. And yet... and yet... one look into those teal eyes, and every protesting voice in her mind fell silent. Giving in to the raw instinct that flooded her senses. She wanted this, to be taken, to surrender utterly, to give herself completely. She reached up to cup Capricia's cheek, to stroke the silken-soft skin with her fingertips.

It took a moment for the wrongness to register in her mind. Where she had expected to find tender, warm flesh, she could only feel a cold, leathery substance. She tried to draw back, to see what her hand had found, but Capricia was incessant, diving in for another long, passionate kiss. Valentina tried to focus, but her mind would not co-operate, the foggy influence of lust and animal need clouding her thoughts. She opened her eyes to regard her companion, taking in the golden hair, the glimmering jewels, the feral yellow eyes, the fangs...

Awareness flooded her mind in an instant, primal survival instincts kicking in as sudden realisation of the peril she faced reached her. Her muscles tensed, giving her a burst of adrenaline as she pushed Capricia away, managing to drive her assailant back a full step.

The woman before her no longer resembled anything human. Her features had twisted, skin pale, almost translucent. Her eyes had sunk into their sockets, deep black hollows surrounding them. Her mouth, so perfect before, was now little more than a ragged, bloody red maw, filled with needle-like teeth. even her body, so slender and well-fromed before, had now taken on an almost skeletal physique, muscles drawn tight across bones, skin weathered and gnarled with age.

Valentina opened her mouth to scream, but a clawed hand darted out to grab her by the throat, instantly cutting off her airways and rendering her mute. In the end, only a strangled gurgle could escape from the young bard's lips.

The monster, whatever it was, opened its mouth wide, fangs flashing in the dark. It let out a long, low hiss, before leaning in, lifting Valentina bodily off the ground as it made ready to sink its teeth into the young woman's throat.

The sound was so small, Valentina almost missed it. A click, a low ticking, followed by a sharp thud of metal hitting wood. Something struck the wall by her head, bouncing off the wooden boards, the monster's shoulder, then coming to a rest in the dirt. Valentina barely registered any details, the blackness of unconsciousness already clouding the edges of her vision, but she recognised whatever it was as a small, spherical lump of metal and glass. Inside, something silvery glimmered in the moonlight. The monster, releasing a puzzled snort, glanced down to where the object had landed in the dirt. Then, an instant later, there was a loud pop, followed by a bang, and a blindingly bright light.

In that moment, the pressure on Valentina's throat vanished, the monster's hand withdrawing as it clutched at its eyes with a tortured howl. The bard dropped to her knees, rubbing at aching eyes and gasping for air. Something hung in the air around her, a fine mist of some silvery substance. It scraped at her eyes, clung to the inside of her throat, but the monster seemed to be faring much worse with it, shrinking back in pain wherever the metallic fog touched it.

"AARD!"

The word barked out through the night, and suddenly the monster was lifted bodily off its feet by an invisible hand and flung into the nearby wall, splintering wood as it struck before tumbling to the ground.

Valentina searched for the source of the attack, looking up from her kneeling position to see a tall, menacing figure standing close to her, looming over her like a giant, elder tree. In the dim light, she could not make out many details, but the silver sword in its hand could not be mistaken, nor could the glowing yellow eyes. Around its neck, a glimmering silver pendant in the shape of a wolf's head betrayed the figure's true nature.

With a growl, sword raised high, the Witcher charged at the beast.


	3. Chapter 3

Vester sighed wearily as he trudged his way up the low rise. Night was closing in, and he could already feel the chills in the air as the final warmth of the sun slipped away. A whole day spent travelling, on foot. A whole week since he'd passed the last village of any note. A whole month since he'd had any kind of paying work. One would have thought that peacetime would have been a boon to a wandering Witcher, with less roving bands of soldiers to harass him for being a mutant, and less chance of becoming embroiled in the conflict in one way or another. But it also meant less work for a monster hunter. Less creatures brought into being by wanton slaughter and various war crimes, and more trained men returning to their farms and homes. It all made for slim pickings for one such as the wandering Wolf School Witcher.

As he crested the hill, the Witcher paused to regard the village before him. He'd been here before, many times. A good enough meeting place between two roadways, and a decent place to rest. Vester paused just a moment, hand reaching to his belt. He tested the weight of his coin pouch, a distasteful grimace jolting across his features. A pity, he would have liked to have slept on a real bed for at least one night. Shrugging his shoulders, the Witcher began to amble down the slope towards the quiet village.

A short time later, Vester carefully stalked his way down an alleyway between the town's blacksmith and a silent home. Somewhere close by, music could be heard filtering out of the tavern at the centre of the village. Vester mused for a moment. Perhaps his coin purse could withstand a few flagons of ale. A hot meal, at least, wouldn't go astray. The scent of stewing meat and warm bread was tantalising on the night air. The Witcher paused to breathe in the aromas... and froze.

The scent was faint, but unmistakable. Centuries old dust, decaying wood, and the metallic tang of blood. On their own, normal enough smells, but when mingled with the electric tingle of magic... there could only be one explanation. A vampire. Judging by the potency of the aroma, one of the more powerful varieties.

In an instant, Vester's instincts took over, pulse quickening ever so slightly. His eyes, yellow, feral, narrowed to thin slits as he looked about for any sign of the source of the scent. In the gloom, he should have been nearly blind, but his mutations gave him exceptional control over his vision, allowing him to see in almost complete darkness. Still, he found it hard to pick out details. With a sigh, he pulled a small potion bottle from the bandoleer that crossed his chest. While he could ill afford to waste the ingredients that went into a Cat potion, a powerful foe like a vampire easily warranted the use of the elixir. He downed it in a single gulp, wincing as the mixture's effects manifested. His vision flared, white spots dancing in the corners of his sight for a moment as colours faded, but details sharpened. In moments, the Witcher could pick out a blade of grass at fifty paces, and spot even the tiniest movement.

As Vester's eyes adjusted, his other senses quickly grew more acute. Sounds were amplified, smells grew more intense, and he could feel the slightest movements in the air, the tiniest vibrations in the soil. He froze, muscles tensing, as a faint sound reached his ears. A moan, quiet, longing. The sound of booted feet scuffling in the dirt. Of tearing fabric. A low, throaty hiss, full of hungry anticipation. Vester knew the sounds all too well. A Bruxa, just about to strike.

The Witcher burst into motion, his feet making surprisingly little sound even as he ran. He charged through the village, winding past a few small shacks. As he moved, his mind raced, countless strategies flickering through his consciousness. Yrden Sign, to prevent movement, perhaps a Stenchbulb bomb to dull the senses, or opening with an Igni, to cause maximum damage. He'd have used a Black Blood potion, but lacked the time and resources to brew one. All these plans and more came to him, some discarded immediately, others put aside for further thought. His mind moved at superhuman speed, recalling every known weakness and strength of his opponent.

After just a few moments, and more than a dozen possible strategies considered, Vester found himself at the mouth of the alleyway, and paused. The vampire, a full-blooded Bruxa with fair hair, had some slight young girl in her clutches, eyes already dulled by the vampire's glamour, expression glazed. The beast had already bared her fangs, ready to sink them into the dark-haired girl's neck.

For a moment, Vester considered her lost, her mind already surrendered to the vampire's power. But then, just as he made ready to strike with an Igni, immolating them both, the beast's victim suddenly flinched, eyes regaining their focus. She looked to her attacker, and life surged back into her as she began to struggle against the vampire's grasp. A hopeless task, but still she fought.

Vester paused, for just half an instant. The logical thing to do would be to strike hard, and kill the monster while she was occupied with her prey. That would be logical. And yet, seeing the little bard, if the discarded lute was anything to judge by, fighting for her life, he found himself unable to take an action that might cause her harm. Sighing, he reached down to his belt, pulling a small glass sphere from one of the hooks there. He twisted the mechanical contraption on its cap, counted to two, then hurled it, turning away and shielding his eyes.

The projectile arced through the air, striking the wooden wall behind the struggling pair, then landing in the dirt beside them. The vampire's head twisted to regard the device for the briefest of moments before, with a mighty bang, the Moon Dust bomb exploded. A flash of light as bright as the sun lit up the alleyway, blinding the vampire as a cloud of shimmering silver dust filled the air.

The beast reeled in pain, first clutching at her eyes, then flinching as the silver dust coated her skin, burning her wherever it struck her. Her form shivered, trying to cloak herself with a shifting mass of shadow, but the pain caused by the dust was too great, keeping her from focusing on using her abilities. She staggered, releasing her grip on the girl.

The moment Vester saw an opening, he stepped forward, hands raised. Taking a deep breath, he traced an ancient, triangular rune in the air. He drew his hand back, a swirl of magical energy twisting around his clenching fist. Then, with a grunt, he thrust his hand forward, palm facing outwards, as he released his vital energy with a mighty bellow.

"AARD!"

The wall of invisible force surged from his palm, striking the vampire forcefully. The Bruxa was lifted bodily, hurled against the nearby wall with a thunderous crack. The silver dust in the air followed her, dragged along by the Witcher's Sign, further coating the beast and causing pain. As the Bruxa recovered, rising to her feet, Vester strode forward, drawing his silver blade as he stood over the awe-struck bard, putting himself between her and peril. He steeled himself, pulling another potion from the brace of vials he carried. This time, a Thunderbolt, a potent mixture to boost his combat abilities.

The vampire glared at the Witcher, sizing him up. Her fanged maw gaped open, a throaty growl escaping from the depths of her breast. She dropped into a low crouch, arms outstretched as she flexed her fingers, revealing long, wickedly sharp claws. Her chest heaved, ribs expanding and contracting, rage exuding from every fibre of her being. Then, with a screech of predatory anger, she surged forward.

The vampire was inhumanly fast, claws flashing in the darkness, but the Witcher was equally swift. His silver blade blocked her talons, sparks leaping from the edge of the sword. The vampire growled, taking another swipe at him, but he managed to manoeuvre the hilt to catch at her grasping talons. he shifted his feet. ramming his shoulder into the beast's collarbone, shoving her back powerfully. He did not give her a chance to regain her footing, slashing with his sword and scoring a long, red line across her belly. She screeched, recoiling from the glimmering blade. Vester took another step forward, thrusting, hoping to impale her on the tip of his sword, but she swiftly side-stepped, grabbing his wrist and pulling him off-balance. A clawed hand found his shoulder, grabbing him and throwing him roughly. Vester tumbled through the air, somehow managing to keep hold of his blade even as he hit the ground.

Before he could recover, the Bruxa was on him, slashing wildly in an attempt to rip open his belly, to tear at his throat, to gouge his eyes, anything that might wound him severely enough that she would have the advantage. One long claw sliced at his bicep, tearing through leather and fabric to slice at skin and muscle. Vester's teeth ground together as the pain assaulted him, narrowing his focus. He fought to keep the gnashing fangs of the vampire at bay, arms straining to hold her off himself. He kicked out, savagely connecting with the spot where her kidneys would have been, had she been Human. This caused her to flinch just long enough that he could throw her off, knocking her away as he struggled to climb to his feet.

Before he could fully recover, the Bruxa was back, closing with him swiftly. The pair exchanged a few more blows, trading blood for blood with every attack. Vester winced as more wounds began to sap his strength, knowing that his time was running out. The vampire would always have the edge when it came to stamina, and the sheer ability to endure wounds, no matter the potions he took. He had to bring her down, before he ran out of energy.

Suddenly, without warning, the vampire dropped into a low crouch, striking with a powerful upswing that connected squarely with his chin. Stars flashed in his eyes as he staggered back. The Bruxa followed up with a quick one-two, ripping at his armour. then, with a triumphant shriek, she lunged, claws outstretched. Her strike landed true, ripping through the flesh of his chest. He let out a pained wheeze as the talons dug deep, piercing one of his lungs, his entire body tensing in response.

The vampire grinned victoriously as the Witcher began to slump, blood pouring from his wounds, coating her hand. Vester twisted around the hand, turning away from her slightly. Then, with a savage roar, he turned back, the glyph of Aard glowing in his palm. He struck the Bruxa squarely in the chest, unleashing all of his power and hurling her away. The Sign, enhanced by his rage and his pain, roared with the strength of a typhoon. The beast was cast away, striking the side of the house behind her. As the raw intensity of the Sign raged, the wooden wall splintered and shattered, flinders of wood filling the air. With a creak and a groan, the house collapsed in a cascade of falling timbers and thatching.

Silence followed this for just a moment, before a petulant, pathetic mewling rose to meet the Witcher's ears. He stepped forward, into the wreckage, to see the vampire lying in the midst of the carnage. A large rafter had fallen, piercing her body and pinning her to the ground. While she still lived, the Bruxa was trapped. Light headed from his wounds, his left lung filling with blood, Vester staggered towards her, bringing his sword to bear. Feral yellow eyes met monstrous black ones for just a moment as the tip of the silver blade hovered over her breast, exactly where the heart was meant to be. With a grunt, the Witcher drove the weapon home, silencing the vampire's gurgles. The Bruxa released a final, wet gasp, claws reaching up towards her foe, then went limp, a trickle of scarlet blood flowing from the corner of her mouth.

Beside the corpse, Vester dropped to his knees. He could already feel the Thunderbolt and the Cat leaving his system, his body returning to its normal state. As his pain receptors once again opened up, agony assaulted his body, eliciting a pained groan. His blood, now borderline poisonous, burned in his veins with a fierce fire. A furious roar built in his throat as, unsheathing a dagger from his belt, he slashed at the now-dead creature's neck. He hacked at it again, and again, and again, until finally the head rolled free, a trophy.

This done, he finally leaned back, and the stars that danced in his eyes drew closer. A powerful tide of dizziness filled his skull, a nauseous wave rising in his throat, before he fell backwards among the wreckage. As his mind filled with black, cloying fog, he became aware of a small, yellow-clad figure rushing to his side, concern etching her features as she knelt next to him. Her lips moved, but whatever she said was lost on the Witcher as he slipped into unconsciousness. Blackness overtook him, and he knew nothing else that night.


	4. Chapter 4

Pain, red hot and everywhere, was the first sensation to greet Vester's senses. His entire left side was an inferno, some fever set deep within his flesh. A white-hot shaft of agony pierced his breast, all the way through to his back. With every breath he drew, he could feel his lung struggling to inflate, his breathing a ragged wheeze. He stifled a groan at the pain, instead trying to focus before opening his eyes.

The Witcher was laying on crisp linen. Clean, but not exceptionally so. Not a noble's house, then. a wealthy homeowner would have scented their bedding with something like Lavender, or Verbena leaves. He shifted slightly, feeling the prickle of straw through the sheets. A peasant, then. Perhaps a farmer, although he couldn't smell the odour of livestock. Not close by, anyway. The typical village's scent of horse, cattle and wet dog was ever present. The day had risen, judging by the brightening light that shone against his eyelids. Sometime around noon.

As he lay there, contemplating all of this, trying to remember the last few moments before he'd lost consciousness, the low singing finally reached his consciousness. A voice, gentle, soft-edged, slipping between actual words and just humming, tenderly caressed his ears.

"Heigh-ho...

Who is there?

No one but me, my dear...

Please come,

Say how do...

The things I'll give to you.

A stroke as gentle as a feather...

I'll catch a rainbow from the sky

And tie the ends together..."

The song was slow, gentle, the voice delivering it light and airy, accompanied by the tender plucking of the strings of a lute. For a moment, Vester was tempted to keep his eyes closed and just lay there, listening in contentment, but then a sharp stab of pain coursed through his torso, forcing him to wince, drawing in a sharp breath. It was time to wake, and check what injuries he had sustained in the fight. He slowly opened his eyes.

The room he was in was small. The thick clay walls were painted white, and the ceiling hung low overhead. There was little in the room other than the bed, a small chest for holding clothes, and a chair facing the single window. A slight figure sat in that chair now, idly playing a lute. It was the girl, the victim of the vampire's attack. She still wore the same yellow dress, with cream chemise underneath. The tears that the Bruxae's claws had left in the garments had been neatly stitched up. The girl rocked a little as she sung, swaying to the melody.

Now he could look at her more closely, the Witcher took a moment to observe all the little details. The way her midnight black hair, cut to be in line with her jawline, contrasted sharply against her white skin, a northern complexion if he was to judge. Finely shaped cheekbones and a small nose sat above a pair of rose-red lips. Two hazel eyes watched the world, a flash of curiosity, creativity, and something else in them.

The Witcher's breath caught in his throat in just the wrong way, forcing a sharp cough from his lungs. As pain raced through his veins again, he curled up, the wheezing, hacking cough sending fresh shivers of agony through him. At the sudden noise, the girl with the lute jolted in her chain, playing a flat note as her singing abruptly halted. She spun, leaping to her feet as she saw the monster hunter curled up around his injuries. She rushed to his side, quickly rolling him back onto his back.

"Please, try to keep still." She spoke softly, straightening the sheets under him. "You lost a lot of blood, and the wounds were starting to turn rotten. I'm worried the infection may spread."

"Water." Vester's tongue was thick in his mouth, a slimy, cracked lump of numb muscle. Still, he managed to force the word out.

The girl nodded, producing a waterskin from a satchel next to the bed. Vester drank greedily from the skin, the cool, clear liquid cleansing the inside of his mouth, sending a shock of pure cold down his throat. New life flooded his veins. A sigh of relief rose from the depths of his belly. The girl stepped back, watching him warily as he pulled aside the sheets to look at his injuries.

A simple poultice had been applied to his chest, cotton bandages holding a thick wad of fabric in place, treated with what Vester could smell was a mixture of Oxeye Leaves, Verbena and Celandine. Carefully, with the girl's help, he lifted the poultice away. Underneath, where the vampire's claws had pierced his chest, was a reddish-brown mess, a series of deep, sucking wounds. The smell rising off it was foul, and would have made a lesser man retch. Thankfully, the Witcher was made of sterner stuff.

"I tried to clean it as best I could." The girl explained, wringing her hands. "But there's no healer here in the village. The nearest herbalist is some three days' ride away, and the alderman refuses to pay to bring him here." Her cheeks reddened. "Said he wouldn't shell out that kind of coin for- for 'a filthy mutant'."

"Not the first time I've heard that." Vester said dispassionately, eyes still fixated on his wounds. "Monster's dead, they don't need to worry about keeping me alive. Its a wonder anybody was willing to even allow me in their home like this." His eyebrows creased as he looked up. "Speaking of which, how are we to pay for the room?"

"About that..." The girl hesitated. "I- uh... I used the coins in the pouch of your belt, for the first night. Since then, I've been paying our way with music and song in the local tavern."

"First night?" Vester asked. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Four nights." She replied. "The villagers have told me we can only stay another night, then we both must leave."

"Both?" Vester asked curiously. "Why must you go, too?"

"Capricia... spent a great deal of money in the village. She'd buy grain from the farmers for her staff at the manor on the hill. She'd pay to have expensive silks and luxury wines from Touissaint imported. The villagers would turn a blind eye to the odd missing person, usually a passing traveller, if it meant continued wealth for them. I... 'exposed' Capricia to you, and got her killed."

"I see." Vester clicked his tongue. "Stupid motherfuckers. They never learn. Of course they wanna keep a Bruxae around just so they can have a few extra coins in their pockets..."

"Forgive me, Master Witcher." The young bard clenched her hands in front of herself, unable to meet the Witcher's yellow stare. "But I once heard that a Witcher's elixirs could allow him to heal from any wound. Isn't that true? I didn't want to just try giving you any of the mixtures that were on your belt without knowing what they did..."

"Aye. A Swallow potion would have healed me up fairly quickly."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." The bard said dejectedly.

"You did a good job." Vester was surprised at the sudden desire he had to encourage her, resisting the urge to get up off the bed and pat her on the shoulder. "The wound has been bound well, which kept more air from getting into my chest cavity, so you prevented things from becoming much worse. Do you still have the phials that were on my belt when you found me?"

The girl turned to the chest, opening it to reveal much of Vester's gear. a few moments, and she produced his belt, with phials and glass spheres still attached. Vester gestured for her to come close.

"The red bottle, image of a swallow engraved into the shoulder of it." He instructed. "Pop the cork, and give it to me."

She quickly obeyed, pouring the sweet red mixture into his mouth.

Wildfire coursed through his veins. His heart began to race as all his muscles contracted and released at once. The bard rushed in closer, a worried expression on her face.

"Oh Melitele save me..." She breathed. "I must have chosen the wrong one!"

"No... Its fine!" Vester managed through grit teeth as he felt the tissues in his chest begin to knit back together. "The potion takes its toll on the body, but the benefits are worth it."

In moments, the savage response from his body to the potion subsided. He could feel his system's regenerative properties taking over, fixing the damage far faster than any natural body could hope to. In minutes, he experienced the kind of healing that would normally take months for a normal man. As soon as his breath steadied, he gestured to the girl again.

"This time, the yellow mixture. The bottle smells of garlic. Then, unscrew the cap on the glass sphere filled with black powder. I need three pinches of the powder."

The bard passed him the bottle, then did exactly as he said with the powder. Vester popped the cork on the yellow potion, wrinkling his nose a little. Golden Oriole was not a pleasant elixir. The odour was often said to be able to wake the dead. Fortunately, he wasn't planning on drinking it. Bracing himself, he held the bottle over his wounds, allowing three droplets to fall into each injury. A small groan escaped his throat as he did so, the burning fire of the mixture working its way deep inside his wounds. He clenched his free fist, the knuckles turning white from the strain. Once he was done, the girl was there, black powder held in her palm. Vester nodded.

"Sprinkle it into the wounds. Be careful not to spill any elsewhere."

"What will this do?" She asked.

"The Golden Oriole will purge corruption and infection." The Witcher explained. "As for the Dragon's Blood, take a step back, and I'll show you. Have a damp cloth ready."

Once the girl had backed away, Vester steadied himself, calming his mind. He knew the next part was going to hurt, but he was ready. Taking a deep breath, he traced the symbol of Igni, muttering the magical command under his breath. Sparks leapt from his hand, finding the Dragon's Blood powder. The black grains caught light swiftly, with their characteristic intensity. Vester's back arched as the flames burned him, cauterising his wounds. The girl quickly rushed in close, dousing the fire with her cloth. She then refreshed the water and placed it back on his skin, cooling the burnt flesh. Vester, chest heaving, nodded his thanks to her.

"I admit, it is easier to do this with someone helping..." He commented. "Thank you... I do not even know your name."

"Its Valentina." She dabbed at his wounds again with her cloth, cleaning the soot and blood from his broad, muscular chest. "And your name, Master Witcher...?"

"Its Vester." He leaned back on the bed, allowing the bard to continue tending to him. "Vester of Oxenfurt."

Valentina nodded, continuing her ministrations. In a few seconds, she began to hum, then words began to tumble from her lips. As the day began to darken into night, Vester slipped back into the realm of sleep, lulled there by the bard's gentle voice and tender attentions.

"Heigh ho... I am here

Am I not young and fair?

Please come

Say how do...

The things I'll show to you.

Would you have a wondrous sight?

Mmm, the midday sun at midnight..."


	5. Chapter 5

Somewhere close by, a rooster crowed his greeting at the rising sun. The morning was cool, grey clouds scuttling across the sky to obscure the sun's light.

As was his habit, Vester had awoken long before dawn's first light, laying there for a short time as he pondered his situation. The Swallow potion had worked to great effect, while he slept. Fresh new tissue covered over the wounds, his lungs now able to expand to their full range with nary a hitch. He chanced a look under the poultice to see his skin intact, unbroken, although a ring of five white scars marked where the vampire's claws had pierced him. He removed the bandages, glad to be free of their restrictions. This done, he arose from his bed.

Valentina slumbered quietly in the chair by the window, lute cradled in her arms. The Witcher paused, looking down at the bard. An unfamiliar swell of emotion rose in him, a fondness mixed with something he didn't quite understand. A protective instinct. Glancing around, he spotted his own cape, draped over the chest at the foot of the bed. Carefully, he placed the thick woollen garment over the sleeping songstress. Then, straightening, the Witcher moved to the chest, pulling out his gear.

Vester was still sore from his ordeal, his muscles stiff, so dressing himself took a little longer. Eventually, the main components of his armour were fastened, and only one belt remained. He slung it around himself, but the buckle was in an irritating position, just around on his back. He strained, but the fastening remained a mere couple of inches our of his grasp. He let out an irritated grunt, stretching for it again, as much as his weary and tender body would let him, but as he turned, the buckle swayed away from him, remaining ever beyond his grasp. The Wolf School Witcher frowned.

The snorted chuckle was quiet, but the Witcher's ears still easily picked it up. He turned to see Valentina, still curled up under his cloak, the fur-lined neck of the garment pressed to her lips to hide her expression, even as her hazel eyes glimmered with amusement.

"Something you find amusing?" Vester challenged grumpily.

"Yes." She replied innocently. "The big bad Witcher, spinning and chasing his tail like... like a puppy!"

She burst into laughter at this, while Vester felt his cheeks redden. While he couldn't bring himself to be angry at the yellow-clad bard, he still felt a little sting of embarrassment. Although he did have to admit, hearing the woman laughing, even at his expense, warmed something deep within him.

"I'm no pup." He grunted, stretching for the strap again. "I am a Wolf..." Once more the strap shifted, and Vester lunged again. "...of Kaer Tiele!"

Before the Witcher could lunge for the offending strap again, the bard was there, her small fingers easily fastening the buckle for him.

"Very well, big bad Wolf Witcher." She grinned. "But unless you want to be chasing your tail again every time you want to put your armour on, you should probably have someone with you to help with this kind of thing, at least until you are healed."

"The Witcher's Path is normally walked alone." Vester answered shortly. "And not normally a safe one for normal Humans to walk..."

He hesitated, looking down at her with his golden eyes. So frail, so gentle, ill-suited for travelling the wild roads. To take her with him as he hunted the monsters of the world would be folly. And yet, to leave her alone would be just as dangerous for her. And, he had to admit, the promise of her company was somewhat alluring to him, for reasons he had yet to fully decipher.

"But I guess, seeing as we both must leave this place today, anyway, there would be no harm in me escorting you, at least to the next town or city."

Valentina's eyes shone at his words, hope and excitement gleaming within her gaze.

"You are certain?" She breathed. "I mean, I am grateful to you already for saving my life, no matter what the locals say. But having your company on the road would mean-"

"I will warn you- travelling with a Witcher is never glamorous or comfortable. I spend more nights sleeping under the open sky than I do with a roof over my head. When I take a contract to raise the coin to survive, I often have to go into dangerous places, with dangerous people."

"I can help!" She offered without thinking. "Not on the hunts, but I can use my music to pay for our keep at any number of taverns! And I can help you when you are injured, make sure you are well fed before any hunt..."

"I'm sure you will be a worthy companion, Valentina." Vester stifled a smile at her enthusiasm. It had been so long since the Witcher had come across one so eager to be in his company. "But remember, this is just for a short time, alright? I won't have you live the life that I have to endure for any longer than is necessary."

The little bard was already bustling about the room, singing a merry tune as she gathered her belongings. Vester could only stand back and smile as he watched.

~o~0~o~

The village was bustling with life, mothers chatting to one another as their children ran up and down the dirt paths between houses, old men sharing tall tales over their first mug of cider of the day. Somewhere nearby, a chicken squawked frantically as a cat chased it, an irate farmer chasing the feline in turn.

All sound stopped, however, as the Witcher and the bard stepped out into the daylight. Suspicious eyes turned to them, some more than a little hostile. Villagers shuffled together in tighter groups, glaring at the pair.

Vester, used to the reaction, stepped out onto the dirt path before him. He took a few steps before becoming aware of an absence by his side. He turned back to see Valentina, clutching at her lute, wide eyes looking at the villagers, who only glared back. A little tremor of fear gripped her. Vester, again amazing himself at the empathy he felt, reached back with an open hand.

"Come on." He encouraged. "We shouldn't tarry any longer here."

The bard took the Witcher's hand, allowing herself to be led down the paths through the village. As they walked past several knots of people, she could hear their whispered words.

"Freak."

"Mutant scum!"

"Murderer!"

A gobbet of spittle and phlegm landed in the dirt by her feet, but Valentina was unable to see who had launched it.

"Just keep going." Vester whispered tensely. "Don't stop, and try not to meet their eye."

Valentina tried to avert her gaze, but just couldn't help it. She looked to one washerwoman, only seeing bile and hatred in her stare. Even the children, so easily shaped by their elders, glared at her. A tight knot formed in her stomach as she passed the throngs.

After what felt like hours, but was actually just a scant couple of minutes, the pair emerged from the edge of the village. The villagers massed behind them, still hurling insults and threats at their retreating backs. By this point, Valentina couldn't help but feel utterly wretched. Her shoulders slumped as she glanced to Vester. The Witcher, seemingly unmoved by the attitude of the villagers, kept his head high as he walked.

"Doesn't it bother you?" She asked. "How they look at you? I mean... you saved them!"

"And so they owe me their love and praise?" Vester shrugged. "The world does not work that way. People will always hate what is different, and we Witchers are very different. We are rarely the harbingers of times of prosperity, and even more rarely does our presence come without some grave cost."

"Then why fight for Humans at all?" Valentina asked. "Why come down here and slay monsters and risk your life to only be met with such hatred? Why even be a Witcher at all?"

"Not every Witcher is given a choice in the matter." Vester replied darkly. "But, more importantly than that, our work is vital to the world. We cleanse the dangerous monsters from the land, like maggots fighting an infection in a wound. We don't need to be welcomed with open arms, and we certainly don't need to be loved, we just need to be left to perform the task we were designed for."

"That's why you fought Capricia?" Valentina asked. "Because it was what you were made to do?"

"Among other reasons." Vester answered evasively. "Typically I should have negotiated a price on her head first, so my costs would be covered, but time was against me."

"So usually you wouldn't have stepped in to save someone like me?" Valentina asked warily.

"It is not the Witcher's way to jump into a fight unprepared."

"Then why rush in like you did on that night?"

"I saw you fight back." Vester shrugged. "Usually, a vampire's victim is so enthralled, they do nothing to stop the beast. But you... you were so full of fire and a powerful drive to resist. You wanted to live, who was I to deny you the chance?"

Valentina nodded quietly. she had the feeling this was only a small part of the truth, but wouldn't press him any further. At least, not for now.

Idly chatting with one another, the pair continued on their way, the village soon vanishing behind them.


	6. Chapter 6

The vibrant sounds of the city filtered in through the open window, the Novigrad docks ever a source of hubbub and commotion. The room, on the upper floor of an Inn known as the Kingfisher's Rest, was comfortably furnished, rich reds and purples covering the bed and the chaise-lounge. Finely carved mahogany formed the posts of the bed and the facings of the other furnishings.

In all, it was too elaborate for Vester's tastes, but the Kingfisher was one of the more modest establishments in town, and the lower prices reflected that. Still, a single night in the Inn cost more than he was accustomed to spending in an entire season on the Path, but given recent successes, he'd felt comfortable parting with the coin when they arrived in town.

Laying next to him, nestled comfortably in the blood-red sheets, Valentina let out a small noise of comfort as she shifted in her sleep, some dream or other sending a smirk slipping across her lips.

It had been some months since the incident with the Bruxae, and the time had been kind to the Witcher and the bard. A number of well-paid contracts had allowed them to travel as far as the port city of Novigrad, where the best-paying contracts could be found. Valentina had even been able to play in a few of the town's famed concert halls, earning herself a fair amount of coin. As such, the pair had been able to live an enjoyable few months together. Vester would never say it out loud, but he knew that the short span of time had been far happier than any he'd known before. And yet... he knew it could not last forever.

The bard laying next to him let out a soft yawn, her eyes blinking open as she looked up at her Witcher companion. The instant her brown eyes met his feral yellow ones, a wide smile played across her lips, reflected by the shining light in her eyes.

"Good morning!" She grinned.

"Good morning, my beloved." Vester leaned in for a gentle kiss. "Sleep well?"

"Mhmm." She nodded, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I had a dream. We went to Beauclair. I played for the Duke in the palace. You got drunk, fell asleep and snored all the way through the performance."

"Oh, I did, huh?" Vester chuckled. "Sounds about right. You never sing the fun songs when you play for nobles. Its always 'fair maidens' and 'dappled waters'. Where are the Trolls, the whores, the randy sailors who don't know the difference between the two?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you are as cultured as a Nekker?" Valentina jibed.

"Once or twice." The Witcher shrugged. "Thankfully, its rare for a Zeugl to care whether I can recite the complete works of Davo Berimas or not."

"Ugh! You're impossible!" The bard grunted.

"I'm a Witcher, we're designed that way." Vester smirked.

Valentina only rolled her eyes, before slipping out of the bed and stepping over to the dresser, where her favourite dress, the bright yellow one she had made herself, was draped over a chair. she slipped the dress on, then picked up a hairbrush, its handle carved Silkwood, something of a luxury even here in the city, but one Vester had been all to happy to surprise her with the previous week. Humming a low but cheerful tune, Valentina began brushing her hair. Vester watched her for a moment, her silhouette against the window casting a shadow on the bed. Finally, with a sigh, he rolled out of the bed, walking up behind her. Strong hands caressed her shoulders as he nuzzled the top of her head, the sweet scent of her raven hair filling his nostrils. The bard smiled at his touch, putting down the brush and leaning back into him, allowing the Witcher to hold her for a long, silent moment.

"We should postpone our journey to Vizima." She said. "The nobles there never pay as well. We could stay here a few more months. We have the coin..."

"If only we could." Vester sighed, and in his voice Valentina could hear a hollow note that seemed out of place. She turned to face her lover, troubled to see a sad, hesitant light in his eyes.

"There's something you haven't told me." She surmised. The Witcher nodded.

"There are times when your senses are just as sharp and accurate as mine. He smiled, but it wasn't a truly happy smile. A shimmer of sadness hid behind it. "Magister Travis Jon will not be paying what we agreed upon. Some kind of accident in his laboratory, an incident with his apprentice, apparently he's been left destitute. He can no longer pay for Archespore samples I gathered for him."

"That gold was to keep us for the next three months!" Valentina exclaimed. "Is there no way to come to an agreement with him, or maybe the nobles of Asheberg could pay for them instead?"

"From what I understand, it will be some time before Travis Jon recovers from this incident, financially or physically. The damage to his holdings, and to the town itself, was extensive. We cannot expect anyone else to come forward to pay his debt."

"Then... maybe we can sell the samples elsewhere?"

"I tried. Nobody within a reasonable distance could make use of them. Perhaps some Alchemists in Kovir, or Zerrikania, but the samples would not survive the journey."

"So... what do we do, then?" Valentina asked, uncertain of the Witcher's mood. While losing the contract was a blow, it wouldn't be fatal. They'd been through harsher times.

"I've taken another contract, one that will more than make up for the time and effort I put into getting those samples." Vester explained. "One of the local Barons claims that a Manticore has taken up residence in the Kestrel Mountains. He wants to gather a selection of skilled hunters to face the beast. It is ideal work for a Witcher, and the gold he has promised is substantial. Seven hundred Orens."

"Sounds like a perfect answer to our problem!" Valentina brightly answered, but the hesitation in Vester's expression remained. "...Isn't it?"

"This hunt... it will be far more dangerous than any other I have faced since meeting you, Valentina." Vester explained. "A Manticore is a rare and challenging beast, even for a Master Witcher. It won't be safe for you to come with me."

"You say that every time you have a monster to hunt down." Valentina dismissed with a grin. "And every time, you always keep me safe. You think I'm going to let my Puppy wander off into the wilds alone?"

She reached up to playfully brush a strand of hair away from his face, but he grabbed her wrist, gently but firmly.

"This time has to be different, my love." His eyes shone with a stony light, more serious than she'd ever seen them before. "We'll be crossing into Redanian and Koviri territory to hunt the beast, and the company the Baron keeps are not good people, not the kind of crew I would feel comfortable leaving you around unguarded. I need to know you are safe, away from this hunt."

His grip shifted from her wrist to her palm, other hand coming up to meet it. Slowly, the towering Witcher dropped to his knee before her, bringing his eyes down closer to the shorter woman's level.

"I am doing this to care for us both, my dearest. To give the work my best focus, I need to know you are safe. Go to Vizima, perform for the duchesses and barons like we had planned."

Valentina felt a lump rise in her throat, but drew in a deep breath, stilling her beating heart. She nodded, accepting the Witcher's words. As much as she hated to part with him, she'd known that one day his profession would force him to leave, no matter how short a time it might be for. She had to trust that he would survive and find his way back to her. By the time she spoke, her mind was already at peace with the decision.

"And after that?" She asked. "Where will I go to find you?"

"I'll head for the Pontar Valley." Vester's shoulders dropped a little, tension and worry escaping from them. "I have a few contacts there I can speak with. There's a village, by the name of Boggevrieg. I'll find you there." He tenderly kissed the hand clasped between his own. "I promise."

"You'd better." Valentina smiled, lifting his chin as she leaned in to plant a kiss on his lips. "If you keep me waiting, who knows what ditties I might come up with? I get creative when I'm bored. Maybe a Skelligan shanty about the Puppy of Kaer Tiele..."

"Oh no, please!" Vester held his hands up in mock surrender. "Anything but that!"

"Well then, seeing as this is our last day together for some time, perhaps we should put it to better use than discussing contracts and the future?" Valentina's brow rose inquisitively as she tilted her head, indicating the bed.

Vester's smile, mirrored by Valentina's, deepened as he took hold of her hand and, for the remainder of that day, all cares and worries faded away.

~o~0~o~

"Miss? Miss?"

The voice broke Valentina out of her reverie. In an instant, she was torn from that warm room in Novigrad, and now found herself once more in the wreckage of the village. The bard jumped, turning to face the man who had spoken to her, the peasant with the hound, Hunter. The man bore a look of concern as he tried to meet her half-vacant stare.

"Y'alright, miss?" He asked. "Ye've been sitting there for a good hour, miss. Mebbe the smoke's gone to yer head a bit?"

"I'm-" Valentina's voice caught in her throat as she stood, wiping the soot from her dress. he dirty fingers left long black smudges on the yellow fabric.

"I'm fine." She managed. The peasant seemed unconvinced, but merely shrugged.

"Suit yerself." He muttered, turning to walk away.

In moments, Valentina was alone again. An icy chill raced down her spine. Where was she supposed to go now? Where was Vester? She couldn't even begin to think about searching for his body. Her mind simply rebelled at the idea. No. He had to be alive. there was no way that he could have died here, without her there to save him. Perhaps he had just fled to treat his wounds. Or maybe somebody had carried him out of the carnage, taken him away from here. Yes, that had to be it. She just needed to go looking for him. There were countless places that she could think of where he might go after an incident like this. She just needed to keep hold of hope. After all, he'd promised her.

The bard gathered herself, and began walking away from the scene of destruction. Behind her, the last few embers of the village of Boggevrieg cooled.

~o~0~o~

A warm spring sun shone down on the road, a gentle breeze keeping it from becoming uncomfortably hot. Valentina trudged along the road, silent as she pondered her situation.

It had been several months now, since the village. The bard had travelled far in that time, even risking the winter's wrath to stay on the road, when many chose to hole up until the snows had passed. She'd travelled the length of the continent, going so far as the port cities of Kovir and even Tretogor, the grand capital city of Redania. She'd searched every haven that she had known since meeting Vester, but none had given her a clue to the Witcher's whereabouts. She'd even sent letters to every compass point, contacting the Witcher castles of Kaer Marter and the remote Kaer Tiele, but had received no response. With every day, it felt more and more like the worst had happened, and her Witcher had indeed perished in the inferno he was accused of starting. The thought preyed on her mind, gnawing at her daily, even as she tried to banish it to the back of her mind.

The sound of drums barely reached Valentina in her thoughts, so occupied was she with her search. When it finally grew loud enough for her to notice it, the bard stopped, glancing around curiously.

Not far from the road, a military camp had been established. Tents had been pitched in neat rows, while an area of the nearby fields had been cleared to make a simple training ground, where infantry troops now drilled. The clang of steel against steel rang through the air, while barked orders could be heard coming from different corners of the camp. Over it all, flags bearing blue lilies. A Temerian camp.

Valentina had never been what anyone would call patriotic, and certainly wasn't a fighter. And yet, standing there before the camp, she couldn't help but feel a pull towards it. People to ally herself with, a stable source of coin, and a place to belong. Perhaps... perhaps they could give her a cause important enough that she'd forget her prior worries. Valentina felt temptation tug at her feet.

Without really thinking about it, she stepped off the road and towards the camp. She was stopped briefly by a pair of guards on the edge of the camp, then led to the heart of it, where a larger, more ornate tent sat, hosting the clearest view over the rest of the encampment. In front of the tent, a small table had been set up under an awning. Two chairs had been placed either side of the table, one simple and crude, the other far more elegant and comfortable. In this ornate chair sat a man, dressed in typical Temerian finery. A navy blue doublet graced his body, patch sporting the Temerian lilies very prominent on his breast. Around his neck, a golden chain, again shaped to reflect the Temerian royal symbol. He wrote in some kind of thick ledger, elegant script that no common soldier would know. As Valentina approached, he glanced up for a moment, gestured with his quill to the seat opposite himself, then went back to his writings.

"What brings you to my camp, young lady?" He asked, still not looking up from his work.

"I'm not certain." Valentina replied, looking about anxiously.

"Then I'm not sure what I can do for you." The commander replied brusquely. "The Temerian army rarely has any use for uncertainty. Are you here to sign up with his Highness King Geddes' royal army or not?"

"I- yes, I suppose I am." Valentina stammered, then straightened in her chair, clearing her throat. "Yes, I am."

"That's better." The commander looked up from his work, finally. "Our third one today. Although you do not look like a fighter. Some kind of songstress?"

"A bard." She nodded to her lute. "Since I was young."

"So you plan to sing our enemies to sleep with a lullaby?" The commander scoffed. "You should go home, girl. Go back to your family."

"I have no family." Valentina answered hollowly. Not strictly true, but she doubted there was much of a relationship she could go back and rebuild there. And now, without Vester... "I have no one. Nothing."

"A common story in these troubled times. And so often they come to me, looking to give them a new purpose in their life, a new cause to hope for, and fight for."

The commander leaned back in his chair, chewing at his lip. He looked at her with unreadable eyes, sizing her up. His gaze travelled up and down her, and she felt like a carcass being assessed by a butcher, her values and weaknesses uncovered at the same time.

"I can provide that, if you are willing and able to follow orders." He said, meeting her gaze again. "Without question. I ask that of every soldier under my command- unquestioning, unfailing loyalty. Can you give that to me?"

"Y-yes." Valentina had never felt more uncertain in her life, but something inside her told her that refusing this man now would be a bad idea.

"Good." The commander smiled, although the gesture did not feel genuine to the bard. Instead, she felt like a rodent before a hungry viper's gaze. "Then I think I can find a place for you among my forces here." He leaned forward, scrawling a few things on a scrap of parchment and giving it to her. "Take this to the quartermaster, and tell him that the instructions come from Commissar Strenger. He'll take note of your personal details and register you among our forces. We will prepare you and the other new recruits to be sworn in and take the Blue later today. You'll be given a billet and assigned to a unit tomorrow."

"Thank you!" Valentina bowed her head, then rose to her feet. Just as she turned to leave, the Commissar's voice stopped her.

"Just one more thing, before you go-" She turned back to see the Commissar's thoughtful gaze upon her. "What's your name, songstress?"

"Valentina, my lord." She quickly answered.

"Hmm. A pretty name." He shrugged, returning to his writing. "Good luck, Valentina. I look forward to seeing what the Temerian Army makes out of you. And what you can do for the Temerian Army."

Valentina walked away from the Commissar's tent, a storm of conflicting emotions within her. On the one hand, hope for a better future ahead of her. On the other, fear about whether she was getting in over her head, committing to a life she wasn't equipped to live. And above it all, a knot of worry. What would Vester have thought, to see her taking a step like this? What would he have said? And, most important of all- where was he?

~END~


End file.
